


lost to me (in every fading memory)

by varlovian



Series: Lemniscate [1]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Angst, Bucky Barnes's Metal Arm, Captain America: Civil War (Movie), Captain America: Civil War (Movie) Spoilers, Character Study, Enemies to Friends, Gen, M/M, Memories, Possible Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-18
Updated: 2016-05-18
Packaged: 2018-06-09 05:23:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,089
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6891901
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/varlovian/pseuds/varlovian
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p></p><blockquote>
  <p><em>He reaches out and fists the fabric of Stark’s battered shirt, black with sweat and motor oil, and it’s the most frightening thing Bucky has ever done, breathing in the other man's space.</em>
  </p>
</blockquote>
            </blockquote>





	lost to me (in every fading memory)

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Русский available: [Lost to me (in every fading memory)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/11626584) by [fandom_Robert_Downey_Jr_2017](https://archiveofourown.org/users/fandom_Robert_Downey_Jr_2017/pseuds/fandom_Robert_Downey_Jr_2017), [remontada](https://archiveofourown.org/users/remontada/pseuds/remontada)



> This is an excerpt I've written to test the waters with this pairing and see how well I capture their dynamic. Title is adapted from the song "Beyond" by the Birthday Massacre. For more information, check the end notes.

The desert air is hot and stifling.

It sits heavy in Bucky’s lungs as he digs his heels into the sand, right arm raised to block out the sun.

His left arm is a defunct weight at his side, slowing his progress exponentially, but nothing short of wrenching it off is going to fix that. The metal has expanded in the heat, and it burns like a brand to the touch. Bucky curls his fingers in remembered pain—he found that one out the hard way.

Despite his disadvantage, he’s made short work of the dune in front of him, and it isn’t long until he reaches the top. The sand stretches out as far as the eye can see, no discernible landmarks on the horizon.

He expects nothing less from Afghanistan.

Is that where he is? He doesn’t remember how he got here—which is troubling, but not all that surprising, considering who he is—but he remembers that. It feels weighted, like his arm.

Like the _heat_.

A ragged gasp pulls Bucky from his ruminations at the top of the rise. He stills, searching for the source of the noise, but finds nothing. He’s half-way down the side of the dune when his feet strike something hard, knocking him off-balance, and only the grip in his boots saves him from going ass over keel down the bank.

He kneels in the sand, fingers brushing the side of what looks like cast iron. He pulls it out one-handed, marvels at its weight in his hand. He scans the area around him again. Now that he knows what to look for, he can see shards of metal all over the place, black pinpricks peppered along the desert floor. His eyes stray to the piece he’s holding, taking in the rough cut of the metal, the haphazard way in which it’s been soldered together.

It’s a chest-plate, he realises, turning the piece over in his hand so that it’s the right way up.

Then he stills.

There’s a perfect circle cut into the centre of the plate. The bolt of dread that ripples through him at the thought is all instinct; it takes the rest of him a moment to catch up. His breath has long since deserted him, because this isn’t just any armor he’s holding.

“Stark,” he breathes—chokes, more like, the name stuck in his throat. His face burns and there are tears gathering in the corners of his eyes. He remembers the sound he heard, lungs gasping for air.

It wasn’t him.

“This isn’t my memory.”

_It wasn’t him._

He looks down at his hands—plural, because there are two of them now, flesh and blood. There’s something else, something harder, lodged in his chest. His lungs burn, he can’t breathe, a wretched gasp spilling from his lips and this isn’t his voice—this isn’t _him_.

Bucky whimpers, one hand scrabbling for purchase in the sand, the other flat against his chest, against the raised edges of the arc reactor embedded there. He knows this story. He knows how it ends. “Please, _I can’t_ —”

“Holy shit,” says a voice off to his right. “How did you even _get here_?”

A hand pulls him back from the ground, its owner folding into a loose crouch in front of him. Bucky looks up into serious, brown eyes and feels something inside of him fracture. He reaches out and fists the fabric of Stark’s battered shirt, black with sweat and motor oil, and it’s the most frightening thing Bucky has ever done, breathing into the other man’s space. Stark says nothing further, just cocks his head to the side and watches him intently, like he’s a riddle to be solved.

“I don’t know.”

Bucky swallows, tries to think around the hole in his head. Stark is uncharacteristically quiet, but he’s still there; Bucky can feel the _rat-a-tat-tat_ of the other man’s heart beneath his hand. It’s symbolic.

It’s too much.

He hangs onto it anyway because it's the only thing here, hangs on until the repetition is something soothing rather than something to be feared. Stark remains still. If Bucky wasn't so damn jaded, he'd think he understood, but he knows better. He doesn’t know Stark, but he knows what he did, and there ain't anything in the world that’ll fix that. For either of them.

Bucky glances up at him. Stark doesn't look angry, he looks bemused.

He knows how he feels.

"I believe you," Stark says. The admission sounds about as pleasant as pulling teeth.

Bucky uncurls his fingers from their vice-grip, winces when the other man frowns down at the mess he's made of his shirt. "Sorry."

Stark shrugs it off, "Have you seen this memory? It wasn't in very good condition to begin with."

It's frighteningly civil. They may have banned together to defeat HYDRA, but they've barely spent an hour in each other's presence without some degree of fighting going on. From the moment Stark had sprung him in Wakanda—one step ahead of a HYDRA kill-squad—to now, it’s been an uphill battle against the enemy… and each other. The only thing they have in common is that they aren't picky on their opponent, ripping into each other as easily as they work together. It doesn't bode well for any heart-to-hearts.

(Bucky ignores the voice in the back of his head that whispers, _It's a start_.)

When he comes back to himself, Stark is watching him again.

"I don't know about you," Stark says carefully, "but this—?” He motions to the sandscape with a grim smile. “Isn’t exactly my idea of a good time. If I'm being honest. Which I always am.”

( _Smartass_ , says that voice again, with as much bite as a Brooklyn accent would allow.)

Bucky’s lips twitch.

"Ain't mine either," he offers. The admission feels like a burden released.

He sees the tremor in Stark's hands as the man straightens. Stark sees him see it. To belie his moment of vulnerability, and because he’s an asshole, Stark claps his hands.

“Glad that’s settled,” he says, looking mildly uncomfortable. “Time to go, Barnes.”

He reaches out with his right hand, with the intent to help Bucky up by his left. Bucky takes the offer, and the fingers that curl around Stark’s wrist are metal. That, more than anything, sets him at ease.

Stark grips his hand and pulls him up with a strength Bucky didn't know he had. It’s surprising, but in a good way.

Bucky swallows.

“Yeah. Time to go.”

**Author's Note:**

> There's something heartbreaking about these two together, and I can't quite let go of yet. Coupled with the fact that Tony's new technology in the film is _way_ too convenient not to use in a narrative.
> 
> If I can get my ass into gear, the full story will take place ten months after the events of Civil War, and deal almost exclusively with Bucky's recovery, his relationship (or lack thereof) with Tony Stark, and the two of them kicking the snot out of HYDRA together.
> 
> Let me know what you think. ♡


End file.
